Stay
by Storymaster Caith
Summary: They had always known Kankuro would die first.


**Stay**

They had always known Kankuro would die first.

It was a silent sort of acknowledgment between the Sabaku three. It was the kind of thing that one just knew, and didn't bother questioning. The middle child, with his wicked grin and his talented fingers, would be the first to take a bow and leave the stage.

It had been Rock Lee who carried his broken body from the battlefield, a battered Karasu slung over his broad green-clad shoulders, tear-tracks the only clean part of his face. They parted for him, Sand and Leaf nin alike, and when Lee laid his brother in law down at his lover's feet, the sound Sabaku no Gaara made would haunt his ninja for the rest of their lives.

Kankuro had not gone alone; he had taken three squadrons of Sound Jounin with him, including the medical genius Kabuto, whose head remained skewered on the katana that had taken it. The battle would be remembered by the name given to the long gulch, the back entry of Sunakagure, which the puppet master had held alone for forty eight hours. Even when the Fifth Kazekage had come and gone, and peace had dulled the desert's fighting edge, the place where children played and old men watched would be known as "Crow's Lookout", though no one could necessarily recall _exactly_ why.

Kankuro never wanted to be buried; it was a long ago conversation, held on one of those nights when none of them could sleep and the stars were brightest.

"_I'd rather be burned, jaa." _

"_Why?" _

"_Because then the wind could carry me anywhere." _

"_You would leave us?" _

"_No, otouto. I'd just go, for a little while. Don't you remember? All the wind in the world- it starts here. I'd come back. I always come back, don't I?" _

With this in mind they built the pyre together; Sand and Leaf, Hokage and Kazekage, Wind Mistress and Shadow Weaver and Great Green Beast. They laid him down on a bed of Sanshuo's powerful back, a pillow made of Karasu's lap and steps of Kuroari's deadly slots, because no one could imagine Kankuro going anywhere, even the afterlife, without his three closest friends. The puppeteers dressed him in full Troupe Master kimono, red and yellow and black; his deadly hands were gently folded, to never perform again. The wounds that had killed him had avoided his face and the desert's dry heat kept him looking gentle as the embalmers worked their arts.

He'd wanted to die wearing his paint; that thin mask that separated the beloved puppeteer from the harsh memory of his wickedly handsome father.

"_But why would you want to die wearing that? It's not your real face." _

"_Yes it is, jaa. It's more my face than his ever was. And besides, if I'm not wearing my paint how am I supposed to find Chikamatsu's Troupe, jaa?"_

"_The WHAT?" _

"_Chikamatsu's Troupe. He's waiting for us when we cross over. Then we perform for all eternity, to every audience- Gods, Demons, spirits. An eternity of puppetry, jaa. It will be wonderful." _

"_It seems stupid to me." _

"_Of course it does, jaa, you're an uncultured twit, Temari." _

It was Gaara who chose the paint; Genkuro the Fox, for whom his brother had been named, and the design looked natural on a face that had not worn it since a long ago invasion.

They set him alight on the stroke of midnight, four days after the battle's end; the black of puppeteers mingled with the tan of suna nin, the black and brown of leaf. As they stood together some cried, some swore, and others merely stared. As long as he'd lived, Kankuro had never taken a lover. If asked he would simply laugh and say that his love was his puppets, his puppeteers, his plays; only Gaara knew the truth.

And Kankuro had chosen his village over Sasori.

Songs were sung, eulogies given; and everyone had a different view of the flamboyant puppeteer, which would have made him laugh out loud, for the true mark of an actor is when you don't know which one of him is which. It was Inuzuka Kiba who set the torch inside Kuroari's gut. They burned fast and hot, full of chemicals and poisons and practiced years of human oils, brushed from long and elegant fingers.

When the smoke had cleared and the mourners had gone, only Lee and Gaara remained, and the Kazekage's Sand gently-ever gently- reached for the ashes. As a prong it whipped around, stirring the gray haze up into the sky, where the hard desert wind whipped it away to all corners of the earth.

Gaara could almost hear Kankuro laughing.

The sand withdrew, but not before gently encasing a small portion of the ash, and bringing it close to the Kazekage's face.

"Stay with me." Gaara whispered selfishly to what was left of his brother. "Stay."

_You're a little brother I'll always have to worry about. _

_Jaa? _

_**oOo**  
_

_**A/N: ...TT_TT It had to happen. I had to write it sometime. I just hope it was written well enough. I've always pictured Kankuro's death as something grand and epic, that he would (Deidara pun entirely not intended) go out with a bang. As for the Sasori hintings- in the manga it isn't really made clear how long ago Sasori left the village, though in the anime it states he's been gone for twenty years. Obviously Kankuro is not older than twenty when he and Sasori fight, so I often tweak with their ages a little bit.**_


End file.
